Cruella's True Spots
by divadarling
Summary: One-shot in anticipation of 4B and because a ship between August Booth (Pinocchio) and Cruella could be called LyingdeVil.


_I am sure the show will give Cruella a different name but for this I called her Dorothy Madden, because Cruella was invented by Dorothy Smith and she is crazy mad. If you all like I may continue..._

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><p><em>New York City<br>__15 Years Ago_

Dorothy Madden inhaled like she owned the air inside her penthouse apartment. The two simpletons across the table squirmed each time she gazed directly at them.

"What are you saying?" Dorothy swept her hand in front of her as if some invisible water slowed the movement.

"Ms. Madden," one beady eyed bureaucrat looked at the other, "we're saying the board of directors wants you out. You have no choice."

Dorothy slammed her hand on the table. Her red glove hinted of her origins against the dark oak.

"It's _my_ company!"

Dorothy Madden lifted to her feet. To the general population Dorothy Madden appeared to be nothing more than a chic business mogul, but to a select few Cruella de Vil would never be able to hide her true spots. Fortunately for Cruella, in this world Rumpelstiltskin had banished her too she had yet to encounter anyone from the Enchanted Forest.

"Gentleman, there is always a choice."

The two men reluctantly stood. Dorothy passed them on her way to show them out.

"But Ms. Madden, the board has offered to buy you out. If you take the deal you'll be no worse for wear-"

The other man interrupted.

"If you fight it means laying off 5,000 people in your various stores."

Dorothy turned on her heel and put her hand on her hip. With the other she fingered the fur around her collar.

"What the papers say is true. I put the mad in Madden. Good day, gentlemen."

The men exchanged a glance. Dorothy could tell they wanted to argue but a flash of her intense eyes sent them scattering out the door. She slammed it behind them.

Dorothy marched into the living room, picked up a full bottle of gin and threw it into the fire. Flames exploded from the brick mantle. The drapes caught on fire. Dorothy made no effort to move. The heat from the fire felt good on her white skin. Her rage on the inside felt slightly quenched by the outward display.

"What the hell are you doing?"

She did not turn to the source of the voice. Her carpenter barreled into the room. She watched with a near stoic amusement as he used a fire extinguisher to put out the flames. The process of containing the fire took him a good five minutes.

Dorothy grew bored with his actions and turned her attention to the sketch book of her latest fashion designs.

She looked up briefly once she felt all heat had vanished. Her carpenter brushed beads of sweat from his forehead.

"Are you insane?!"

"I will tell you what is insane, Mr. Booth, those idiots thinking they can steal my company out from under me." She turned her attention back to the sketch book.

She heard him exhale and the fire extinguisher clinked onto the glass end table.

"I overheard them. Tough choice."

She slammed the book closed and lifted her chin.

"There is no choice. I didn't sacrifice, scratch and bite my way to the top to lose it all now."

The carpenter put his finger to his five o'clock shadow. Over the course of the last three months, as he worked to handcraft her grand staircase, the features of his face slowly grew more handsome.

"What did you sacrifice?" He held out his hands and moved around the room. "Looks to me like you have it all."

Dorothy scoffed.

"And I have a bottle of gin and my carpenter to share it with."

August W. Booth frowned.

"Poor you. What about all those people about to lose their jobs?"

Dorothy put her hand on her hip and took a few steps toward him.

"You know nothing about the world of high fashion…" she eyed him from head to toe, taking in his dated leather jacket and handy man jeans, "obviously."

He half grinned.

"But I do know what it's like to live on a paycheck. Those people count on their jobs. What could it hurt you to make the right decision?"

Dorothy had lived with this carpenter for three months. Instead of time putting her more at ease with him it only served to make her more uncomfortable. He spoke as though he knew her and not just the Dorothy Madden side. Each time he looked her square in the eyes with an absence of fear her voice caught in her throat and she fell helplessly under his spell.

"I know they call you the fashion devil, but I've watched you the last few months. You have been fair and honest in your dealings. You only have a reputation because you're a shrewd business woman and men don't like that."

As he spoke August inched toward Dorothy. By the time he finished speaking he was uncomfortably close to her. For her that was still a good half meter away.

"I don't care what men think, or my employees. Fashion is my only true love. I will do anything for it."

August shook his head.

"If you made the right decision, who knows. Maybe there is a carpenter out there who could share something with you."

August looked down at the floor, a motion that mirrored the downfall of Dorothy's mouth.

"Excuse me."

He brushed passed her.

"Mr. Booth," Dorothy squared her shoulders. He stopped in the doorway and turned to face her.

"Fate has taught me whether or not I make the right decision I always lose. I would rather have my company, as hollow as it is, than end up with nothing at all."

August's expression tore at Dorothy's heart. She laughed at the hurt in his eyes; a bitter inward laugh at the idea there was a man foolish enough to mourn a love that could never be.

"I'm finished with your staircase. I'll be back tomorrow to pick up my things."

For the first time in years Cruella de Vil felt something awaken in the numb, dead wasteland of her heart. Every day for months she returned from a hellish day of work to a warm smile and kind word. She did not want him to go.

"It's about time. I thought you'd never finish." She stormed out of the room.

* * *

><p>Dorothy sauntered down the staircase. She ran her red glove down the banister but kept her eyes pinned on the carpenter below. He nearly finished packing his things.<p>

"What do you think? This is my finest work."

Dorothy jutted her jaw forward. He was right. For the last month every business associate who visited commented on the fine craftsmanship. She reached the bottom of the stairs and tossed the fur over her shoulder.

"It's terrible. Not what I wanted at all. Rip it all out and start again."

August stared at her. His jaw hung open. She could tell her words cut him to the core. She reviled in the power she had over him.

"But… it's exactly like we planned."

Dorothy took a few steps away from him.

"Well, I _hate_ it." She narrowed her eyes. "Start over."

August dropped his tool box. The loud crash on the hardwood floor made Dorothy jump.

"No."

"You are the hired help. You're not paid to talk back."

Hostility was an emotion she knew well and so August's proximity did not cause her discomfort.

"If you want it redone, hire someone else. I quit."

He picked up his tool kit. Dorothy followed him to the door.

"You promised to finish the job. You lied."

August stopped abruptly which caused Dorothy to stop. He turn and pointed at the stairs.

"I put my blood, sweat and tears into that thing for you." He shook his head. "But I guess since it's not a dead animal you can't appreciate it."

"Why don't you leave before you make a complete jackass of yourself?"

August slammed the door on his way out. Dorothy stared at the white washed door for a few seconds. She reached out and let the red fingers of her glove touch the wood. She closed her eyes. After a moment of self-pity she reminded herself that it would have ended badly anyway.

* * *

><p>August W. Booth pulled his jacket closer around him as a chill breeze swept through the New York City street. He just finished browsing the used car lot for the motorcycle of his dreams and was still daydreaming about a new set of wheels when he ran into another pedestrian. The man had a newspaper tucked under his arm and August came face to face with a small headline in the lower corner.<p>

_Mad Madden Forfeits Interest in Dorothy's Designs._

"Can I see that?" August asked and absently grabbed the paper.

"I beg your pardon?" The old man swatted August away and scuttled down the street.

August ignored the sting of the slap and reached into his pocket for some loose change. He went to the nearest newsstand and purchased his own copy. He discarded the other pages in favor of the article about Dorothy.

She had saved the jobs of thousands of employees and the media still ripped her to shreds.

_When asked about the venture Fashion Editor Miranda Priestly remarked, 'I suppose she wasn't tough enough for this business.' _

August threw down the paper. What he read disgusted him. Dorothy had been right. She lost everything and did not receive an ounce of praise for doing the right thing.

He hailed a cab. He had responsibilities. Emma had been getting into trouble lately and he needed to keep an eye on her. He did not care. He had to see Dorothy Madden. Three weeks had passed since their end-all argument. Every day since then he played the event over in his mind.

In the backseat of the cab he felt like his head or his heart might explode. The thought of facing her again sent a cold shiver down his back. The remote possibility that he might… he didn't even know what. His mind raced. What if he knocked on her door? Would she answer? If she did, did he have the courage to ask her on a date? He watched her from afar for so long, like a pauper watches a princess and dreams of things that could never be.

The Blue Fairy once told him to be brave, truthful, and unselfish. The brave part was the one throwing him off at the current moment. Those memories seemed so far away. The cab stopped in front of the elegant apartment complex. August paid the driver and stepped out into a sudden rain.

He had so much nervous energy he decided to take the stairs. With each step he reminded himself of all the reasons he shouldn't go to her. With the events of his past, he knew he could never be happy until he confronted Emma; until he helped her break the Evil Queen's curse, but that seemed like another lifetime. In the meantime, he wondered if he could steal a moment of peace with a woman just as broken and destined for an unhappy fate.

After four flights of stairs August opted for the elevator. He knew if he kept thinking too long he would turn tail and run.

Finally, he reached her door. He rallied his courage with a deep inhale. He straightened his hair in the reflection of the door window then checked his breath. He swallowed and knocked.

No answer.

He rang the doorbell.

Still no answer.

He ran his fingers over his chin and knocked again.

"Dorothy? It's me, August."

Silence ensued. He didn't know if she could hear him even if she was there.

"I just read the paper. I need to talk to you."

He waited. The sound of someone unlatching the door made his heart race. Now that he had her attention he drew a blank on what to say.

The door swung open. What he saw on the other side made all words unnecessary.

Dorothy's multi colored hair twisted in a tangled mess. The tell-tale signs of crying, red nose and rimmed eyes, she did not bother to hide. She held a waded Kleenex in her bare hand. August rarely saw her without leather gloves. He had never seen her without a fur. She faced him now in pink, fuzzy pajamas.

He wondered how many years it had been since she had made such a fashion faux-paus.

"You look like hell." He smiled as he said it because he'd never seen her sexier.

His words stirred fire in her eyes. Before she could yell at him he stepped inside the door and kissed her fully on the mouth. A thrill went through him when he felt her fingers grip his shoulder.

She returned his kiss in a slightly desperate yet tender way that pulled at his heartstrings. He never wanted to let her go. Feeling needed gave him a new outlook on life. Dorothy's kiss made him want to face his past and reach for the impossible.

She pushed him away and dashed his hopes. To his relief she still allowed him to hold her in his arms. He touched his forehead to hers and they both steadied their breathing.

"You should know," she said as she looked up at him, "I am not capable of love. If we start something it will not end with me falling in love with you."

August smiled. He ran his hand over the shoulder of her pink, fuzzy pajamas.

"Please, Dot, you're not some inhuman beast."

Dorothy's lip curved into a wicked half grin.

"I am a prisoner of my past. A past no one can ever know or understand."

August's smile dropped and he put his index finger under her chin.

"That, Ms. Madden, is something we have in common."


End file.
